The honeymoon continued to be wonderful. I never had to use the
correction collar...just the fact that I had the remote and could force
her to eat was enough.
In chatting with a lot of feedees on-line, I found out that a lot
of them are into some pretty strange stuff. I started trying to
figure out what I would do if I ever got into a relationship with
someone like that. This story is the result.
A couple of years ago I started taking a creative writing class. The most
attractive woman in the class, hands down, was Janice, a young woman in
her mid-twenties. I couldn't help but admire her, even though she was a
bit too slim and muscular (she looked like she worked out a lot) for my
taste. I tried to start a conversation with her once when we both
arrived early. She was civil, but remote, and evidently completely
uninterested in me.
Then one night, after a class in which I'd read one of my stories aloud,
she stopped me as I was walking to my car.
"Excuse me, but your writing style sounds kind of familiar to me, and I
just wondered...have you ever posted any stories on the internet?"
"Uh, yes, I have, as a matter of fact. But they were under an alias, and
the subject matter was... a lot different than the story I read in class
today..."
"Right," she said,"but the style is similar...what's your alias?"
I hesitated in telling her, but figured if she did recognize my alias, it
could only mean that she liked my work and shared my proclivities. If she
didn't recognize it, she'd probably never come across the stories and
connect me with them.
"My alias is 'TR'," I said,"Ring a bell?"
"Yes!" she said, excited,"I knew it! You write those great feeder
stories, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, smiling,"Are you a feeder? You look pretty thin to be a
feedee..."
"Oh, I'm neither! Well, not in practice anyway. The feedee thing is just
a fantasy for me. I definitely _don't_ want to get fat."
"Yeah, I've corresponded with women like you. Actually, it's pretty much
just a fantasy for me too...that's why I write so many stories. And
anyway, I'd call you a feedee even if you don't do it for real. It's more
an orientation than a practice."
"You mean you've never..._fed_ anybody?"
"I did a little bit once..."
We ended up going to a cafe and chatting for a while.
"What was your favorite story of mine?" I asked her.
"'Thin Discrimination'" she said, a bit shyly,"where those women were
forced to gain weight...that was the most erotic story I've ever read. In
fact, this is how kinky I am: Reading that story was the most erotic
experience I ever had!"
"What! You mean it was better than sex with another person? Or are you a
virgin..."
"Not by a long shot!" she said, laughing,"but I mean it, that story was
better than making love!"
"Were you, uh, pleasuring yourself while you read it?"
She laughed again, blushing slightly,"Well, of course!"
It was fun chatting with her, but it still didn't look like it was going
to turn into a relationship that would go anywhere. She was awfully thin
by my standards and, even though she had a cute body that looked like it
would carry extra weight well, she was adamant about staying thin.
Two nights later, after the next class, she asked me if I wanted to go to
the cafe again.
"I have something I want to talk to you about," she said.
She seemed kind of nervous. We made small talk as we walked to the cafe,
got our drinks and sat down. There was a pause.
"I wonder," she said finally,"if you might be interested in performing
some...experiments. With me."
"What kind of experiments?" I asked, though I had some idea of the
answer.
"Do you think you could force me to eat?"
"What, you want me to build a feeding machine, like the one in 'Thin
Discrimination'?"
"Not that elaborate...I just wonder if there's a way you could do it."
"I thought you don't want to get fat."
"Oh, I don't! But we wouldn't do it that much...just enough to see if
it's really possible...somehow that would make my fantasies more real."
"Well, of course it's _possible_..."
"Yeah, I know, but if we actually did it, I could _feel_ that it was
possible..."
We talked about various ways of doing it...she was most interested in
seeing if it could be done by the simplest of methods. I would get a rope
and tie her up, and see if I could force food down with a funnel.
We tried it that weekend...it was a disaster. She really wanted to be
forced, and she fought me hard (without yelling however). Though I was
bigger and stronger, she was very fast and quite strong herself, and as we
wrestled around, she hit her head against the wall.
"Ow!" she said,"Stop!"
"Are you all right?"
"Yes," she said crossly,"but this isn't working."
She rubbed her head for a while.
"You need to be stronger," she said,"that way you can overcome me more
easily, without either of us getting hurt. Tomorrow you're joining a
gym."
"What? But that will take a long time. Why can't you just let me tie you
up?"
"No. I have to know that you could do it even if I didn't want you to."
It was crazy, but I started working out six days a week. She became my
personal trainer. She worked me really hard. For her part, she
_stopped_ working out, so as to be weaker and easier to overcome.
After a few months of this, I was in the best shape of my life. I was no
Arnold Schwarzenegger, but I'd lost some of the flab around my belly,
gained some nice muscle definition in my arms and chest and legs.
"Wow," said Janice one day, as I modeled the new me,"you've really got a
good physique! You should never have let yourself get into such lousy
shape."
"I guess I needed some incentive," I said with a grin.
"If you shaved off that mustached you might actually be attractive, with
those blue eyes...and that nice hair..."
"It's getting pretty grey these days."
"It suits you."
"Anyway...don't you think we're ready?"
She'd diligently been getting out of shape by lounging around, watching
television a lot. She'd quit riding her bike and got a car, and drove
everywhere. She avoided stairs, sports, and anything strenuous.
"I guess so," she said,"let's try again tonight."
She came over to my place--since I live in a house some distance away from
any other houses we didn't have to worry about making noises that might
alarm the neighbors.
"Wow...you shaved off your mustache," she said,"Nice."
"First we have to weigh you," I said,"what's an experiment without data?"
"Make me," she said, with a grin.
So I had to grab her and strip her down to her bra and panties. She
struggled, but I was much stronger than her now and it was easy. I
carried her in my arms and stood on the scale. Then I tied her up. I
weighed myself (175 at this point, much less than I'd been months earlier)
and subtracted my weight from the previous total.
"You weigh 126 pounds," I told her,"what did you weigh before you quite
working out?"
"About the same," she said, panting hard, winded from our struggle"I
haven't been eating much, because I don't want to get fat. But I've lost
muscle, so I must have gained some flab."
There was a little bit of pudginess about her waist and ribs that hadn't
been there before, but you still would have had to call her thin. Just not
_as_ thin. And she had a terrific, hourglass-shaped body that I was sure
would fatten up really well.
"I'm really out of shape now," she said,"I got winded just walking up the
stairs from my car."
I'd tied her to a big easy chair I'd brought into the kitchen. Then I
tried to put the funnel in her mouth. That proved impossible. Her jaw
muscles were still strong, and I couldn't hold her head still and force
her jaws open.
"I think I will need more apparatus," I said.
"Okay," she said,"get to work!"
I untied her and went down to my basement workshop. She sat on the couch
and watched TV as I got a plank and cut a hole in it just the size and
shape of her head.
I tied her up again, put her head in the hole in the plank and lashed the
plank to the chair.
"Can you move your head now? I asked.
"No, not much," she said.
Opening up her jaw was pretty hard....I found a small straw I could fit
into a gap between her teeth and squirted some dish soap into her mouth.
When she opened her mouth to spit out the soap, I inserted the funnel.
I'd set things up so her head was inclined back slightly. I got a pitcher
of water and started pouring it down the funnel (I'd decided to start with
water to get the technique down, as it was less messy than more fattening
things).
It didn't quite work...she was able to spit the water up around the funnel
and out. I figured I could put the funnel further in, but wasn't sure how
to do it without hurting her.
Now I was at an impasse. It occurred to me I could put some kind of gasket
around the funnel and tape it up around her mouth, but what if she started
gagging? She might choke to death before I could get all that stuff off
of her.
Finally I plugged up her nose, so she had to breathe through her mouth. I
showed her a quart of water.
"Okay," I said,"now I'm going to tell you when I pour it in...I'm going to
keep pouring until you swallow it. If you don't swallow, you will
suffocate."
She tried to spit it out again, but I kept pouring and she gagged. I
took the funnel out and let her cough up the water. Then I toweled her
off and started over.
This time it worked...she dutifully swallowed a pint of water. I switched
to weight-gain milkshake and poured in a pint. I felt her stomach. It was
slightly distended, and harder than it had been. I massaged it for a bit
until she belched, then poured in another pint of weight-gain milkshake.
Her eyes grew really big an alarmed as I got to the end of the pint.
I removed the funnel and untied her.
"God," she said,"I'm so stuffed!"
"Weigh yourself now," I said, helping her up out of the chair.
Her stomach bulged visibly as she went to the scale.
"128," she said.
"That figures," I said,"Well, I think there's no doubt I could force you
to gain weight."
"I guess not," she said,"but it still kind of felt like I was cooperating.
Especially since I know you wouldn't really let me suffocate. It would
have been really unpleasant if I'd resisted, but I could have. Isn't
there some way you could do it so it was _entirely_ against my will?"
"Well, we could rig up a tube like in 'Thin Discrimination'. But I think
it would have to be inserted through the nose, the way they do it when
they pump people's stomachs out, so there would be no danger of gagging.
And I have no idea how to do that."
"We'll have to do some research, I guess," she said.
A week later, after researching it, we tried inserting the tube. For the
first run, we agreed that she would cooperate until I got the technique
down. It wasn't easy, and somewhat painful for her, but I finally got the
tube down her throat into her stomach.
I attached the other end of the tube to a two-liter plastic bag full of
weight-gain milkshake that I suspended from a ladder. I figured I could
control the pressure by the height of the bag.
Sure enough, the thick fluid flowed down the tube and into her stomach.
"It's working!" she said excitedly,"I feel my stomach filling up!"
"How does it feel?"
"Weird..."
We both watched in fascination as her belly slowly expanded.
The bag stopped flowing when it was about half-full. Since I knew she
could take two liters, I figured it was safe to raise the bag higher and
increase the pressure. I did so and the fluid started flowing again.
"Ooh...I'm really getting full!"
I massaged her belly to help it expand.
Finally the bag was empty.
"Jesus, it really worked," she breathed.
She rushed into the bathroom and shut the door.
"Are you all right?" I asked, after over 15 minutes had passed.
"Fine, fine," she said, "I'll be out in a minute.
After a few more minutes, she came out.
"Oh, that was nice..."
"Did you purge in there?" I asked.
"No, silly," she said,"I...'pleasured myself', as you put it. Let's do it
again in two weeks. But then I want you to force me the whole way."
"Why wait so long?"
"I weighed 127 this morning," she said,"And now I'm up to 128. I've got to
lose some weight before we do any more experiments."
With that, she left.
I felt profoundly unsatisfied. I'd kind of hoped the relationship would
progress into a more explicitly sexual one...somehow getting a woman all
turned on so she could go masturbate in my bathroom was not what I was
looking for.
And of course what I'd been secretly hoping for is that she would get into
being force-fed so much that she'd want to do it all the time, and _would_
gain weight. That would be fun for me even if we didn't actually have
sex. But here she wanted to wait two weeks!
However, I decided to bide my time.
The following Friday, when we got together in the gym (she was still
coaching me to keep me strong), she said she had good news.
"I'm down to 126," she said,"so we can do another experiment tomorrow!"
"Great," I said,"I'll be ready."
This time we did it at her house. Somehow it made it more exciting to her
to have a man do this to her at home. By agreement, I gagged her so she
wouldn't make any noise.
I forced her into the chair. And tied her up.. When she was completely
immobilized, I very carefully inserted the tube. This time I started the
bag at the higher point. Her stomach filled up more quickly this time.
I massaged her belly again, this time with baby-oil (a tip I'd learned
from a feedee on the internet), as the fluid flowed down. Then I moved my
hand down and massaged her lower down. She was very wet and very ready.
She looked alarmed when I touched her there, and made some faint noises of
protest, but the noises almost immediately turned to noises of ecstasy.
She started breathing quickly through her nose, as I continued to massage
her. I undid her bra and gasped.
"Your breasts..." I said, as I began massaging her nipples "they're
beautiful...so perky and nicely shaped...but they need to be bigger..."
She started coming and eventually had a fantastic orgasm, right as the
feeding bag emptied.
I untied her.
"God," she said,"that was fantastic. God, it was so wonderful..."
"I was afraid you'd be mad."
"Oh, because you violated me? Well, that's kind of the whole idea, isn't
it? If you let a guy come into your house and tie you up, you've got to
expect that kind of thing."
"That's kind of how I was thinking, but I wasn't sure you'd see it the
same way. So you mean I could even..."
She smiled mischeviously and jumped away from me.
"If you can catch me," she said.
Of course I caught her, and took her right on the kitchen floor. She came
again.
"You're really something," she sighed happily.
On Wednesday, she weighed herself at the gym after I finished my workout.
"126!" she said happily,"we can experiment again tonight!"
"Sort of," I said,"I've got a new experiment I want to try."
"What?"
"I'll force-feed you," I said,"but only if you gain weight. Whenever you
set a new weight record, you get fed. And your highest weight was 128, so
no more feeding until you get to 129."
"What! But I told you: I _don't_ want to get fat!"
"That's your prerogative. This has been kind of interesting for me, but
I'm really not into force-feeding, except as a means of fattening up a
woman. And if you don't want to gain weight, I'd rather not continue. I
mean, I'd like to go on seeing you, but--"
"Yeah, but...well, anyway, how am I going to gain weight if you won't feed
me?"
"Well, I'll feed you the regular way, if you want. You know, eating?
Remember eating?"
She'd been eating almost nothing lately, to get her weight down between
force-feeding sessions.
"But...no...I'm too afraid if I start gaining weight I won't be able to
stop. If I started eating, and being force-fed and made love to and
getting fat...God, it's too seductive!"
"Suit yourself."
She thought about it for a while.
"Well, there is _one_ way...but I don't think you'll like it."
"What?"
"We could get married."
"What?"
"Why do you think I don't want to get fat? It's hard to find a good
husband if you're fat. But if _you_ were my husband, I'd be all set!"
She started getting excited about it, her eyes shining.
"You could fatten me up a _lot_!"
"How much?"
"Well, I wouldn't want to get _too_ fat...maybe fifty pounds or so?"
It was a crazy reason to get married. Still, she had such wonderful
potential...ever since I'd gotten a good look at her terrific body I'd
been obsessed with the idea of fattening her up to her optimal size.
"I'll...have to think about that..." I said.
"You'll think about it? Really?"
"Would I have to support you and take care of you and do all that
traditional husband stuff?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Of course, you nitwit! That's why I want to get married. I want to be a
writer. But I haven't been able to make much money at it, and I can't do
it as much as I'd like since I'm constantly having to work at a shitty job
to survive. But if I had a nice husband supporting me, I could write, I
could eat, I could have incredible sex...it would be heaven! And
_you've_ got plenty of money! You're perfect!"
"What ever happened to falling in love?"
"For me, this is love, believe me. Hell, it's better than love! You, I
don't know about. I guess if you can't fall in love with me enough, you
should forget it. But if you can, it would be _so_ cool."
A month later we were walking down the aisle. I still had my doubts, but
I figured hell, people _had_ doubts when they got married. Would she keep
her promise? Since we'd gotten engaged, we hadn't done any feeding at all
("I don't want to be a fat bride" she had told me).
I was worried on our honeymoon in Maui...she wouldn't eat much. One
morning I asked her to weigh herself....she only weighed 124!
"I thought you were going to get fat," I complained,"how are you going to
get fat at this rate? You've got to start eating."
"Make me," she said, smiling mischeviously.
"Make you? How am I going to do that?"
"That's _your_ problem."
"But you promised--"
"I said you could fatten me up. I didn't say I'd cooperate."
Just then there was a knock at the door of our rented cottage. It was a
delivery guy with a big box.
"What could that be?" I asked.
"Open it," she said.
Of course, it was the plank, the rope, the tube, several packages of
weight-gain formula, all the paraphernalia we'd put together, plus a few
new things--handcuffs and chains.
"Oh," I said,"I get it."
She ran out of the bedroom. I chased her around the house, and caught her
easily (she was still out-of-shape) and tied her up while I got everything
ready. Soon her belly was inflated like a balloon, and she was as horny
as all get out. I started untying her to make love to her.
"Careful," she said,"you wouldn't want me to escape."
She was a tough one to figure out....but I was starting to realize that
the way to make her happy was to force her in the way she wanted to be
forced but without her telling me. She gave me hints, and I had to figure
out the rest.
I managed to attach the chain and handcuffs in such a way as to allow her
to go between the bed and the bathroom.
"I'm going to _really_ fatten you up now," I said,"and there's nothing you
can do about it!"
She smiled rapturously.
I fed her again that evening and three times the next day. But I was
starting to worry that taking the tube in and out was going to irritate
her nose and throat. Already her voice was getting a bit hoarse. The
third day when I put the tube in it seemed to cause her some pain. It was
a shame to quit because her capacity had already increased--she could take
three liters now, and when I fed her belly was distinctly bigger than ever
before.
The other thing that was pretty ridiculous was that it was looking like we
were going to spend our entire time on Maui in that one room. I
understood that she wanted to be forced to gain weight, so she could get
fat without feeling guilty, or something, but this was going too far.
Sure, the sex was fantastic, but we couldn't have sex all the time!
Though of course every three or four days she'd refuse to eat, saying she
didn't feel like it, and I'd get all the apparatus, chain her up, and
force feed her. And then we'd have delicious sex.
"135 pounds," she announced on the final morning of our trip,"can you
tell?"
She stood on the scale, completely naked (except for the correction
collar). She was still nowhere near fat, but she'd definitely said
goodbye to thin. There was no trace of boniness anywhere. Her breasts
were still perky but had acquired a decided jiggly heft to them. Her
buttocks had lost that hollow quality they'd had before, and also had
gained a tendency to jiggle. Her legs, which had been slightly on the
skinny side, had filled out, her hips were pleasantly padded, and her
tummy, while still not in the pot-belly class, had become soft and round.
"I sure can. You're becoming a true voluptuary."
"What's that?"
"A person devoted to sensual pleasures."
"Oh...what a nice thing to be...is that where 'voluptuous' comes from?"
"Yes. Voluptuaries eat really well, since eating is big on the list of
sensual pleasures. So they tend to be pretty fleshy."
"I don't know...I think I was always a voluptuary...I just fought it
before." she walked over to me and put her arms around my neck,"but now I
can really be myself, since I've got such a great husband...wait a
minute--what's this?."
She looked down at my belly, and gave it a poke. It had grown some too
while we'd been on vacation.
"Remember," she said,"I'M the voluptuary in this family, not you! Get
down and give me ten, soldier."
Obediently I got down and started doing pushups. To my surprise, she
climbed on my back. I finished the pushups with great difficulty.
"What a fun exercise," she said, as I collapsed, gasping for breath,"and
just think how strong you'll be by the time I'm nice and fat!"
We flew back home. The next day, when I arrived home from work, I found
her kind of listless and depressed.
"What's the matter?" I asked her.
"I could have escaped," she said, angrily.
"What? You want me to keep you chained up all the time? You have to go
out by yourself sometimes."
"Yeah, I know, but...I couldn't eat. I started feeling guilty about how
fat I was getting, how I should just leave and go on a diet..."
"Do you want to?"
"Of course not, dummy! But it would be much nicer if it wasn't an
option."
I could tell she didn't want to talk about it more than that...she wanted
it to come from me.
"Well, I'll chain you up for now," I said,"while I try to think of
something.
"Oh, goody!" she said.
When I came home the next evening, I found her in the living room,
snacking on bon-bons and watching television.
"How was your day? Miss me?"
"Yes," she said, getting up to give me a kiss,"but I've been drowning my
sorrows in food. Take a look."
We'd reserved a part of the kitchen for food trash, so I could monitor her
intake. One twelve-inch pepperoni pizza, two pints of ice-cream, a can of
whipped cream, a can of chocolate sauce, 8 bon-bons, a bag of oreos,
twenty chicken nuggets and half a pound of french fries.
"Very good!" I said, patting her engorged belly, nicely highlighted by her
tight t-shirt which had ridden up above it,"did I ever tell you you have a
really cute belly button?"
"Not for days!" she said,"oh, and guess what...I wrote today!"
"Really?"
"Yeah! I went really well! It used to be much harder, because I was
always dieting. It was hard not to think about food. But today, whenever
I started thinking about food, I just ate some...it's wonderful for the
concentration."
"I have a surprise for you," I said, removing a package from my pocket.
Eagerly, she opened it up.
"But...this is just the pet-correction collar," she said,"so what?"